Fiction Tournament
by Elliot Pole
Summary: Remember in "Something Rotten" when Thurday and Yorrick Kane had their fiction battle? Well, that's what this is, except it's a tournament. Featuring: Geppetto, Fagin, Humbert Humbert, Lucy Pevensie, Winston Smith, Javier, and others. Who will win?
1. Chapter 1

**Fiction Tournament**

"Welcome to the Big Event of the Year, the Grand Fictional Tournament! I'm your host, Pierre Salisbury, fresh from Azkaban after committing mail fraud. Actually, I just sent a letter to Lucius Malfoy by a camel, and I was imprisoned for not employing owls. Anyhoo, enough about me.

"This year's Fiction Tournament will feature sixteen contestants, all vying for the ultimate prize, the Monkey's Paw! This magical artifact will grant you your greatest wishes. Each player will be allowed to summon any creature from fiction in a three-on-three match. Whoever runs out of creatures first loses. The one creature that is banned under any circumstances is the kraken. Joe Koebb will list the participants in this year's match."

"Thank you, Pierre. We have, in alphabetical order, George F. Babbitt, Lydia Bennet, Bastian Balthazar Bux, Fagin, Jean-Claude Frollo, Geppetto, Hans Christian Anderson's unnamed little mermaid, Humbert Humbert, Javier, Macbeth, Lucy Pevensie, Phineas, Ebenezer Scrooge, Winston Smith, Venus, and the White Rabbit." As Joe called all of these character's names, they appeared on the center stage, except for the White Rabbit.

"Where the heck is that fellow? He's always late. That's not good for business, you know," said Babbitt.

Thursday Next looked the combating characters up and down as she walked past them. "Just checking to make sure you are all fit for battling. Play to your strengths. Hum, if the opponent summons seven-year-old Alice, don't drool over her. Mermaid, don't dwell on your soul's inability to reach heaven. You'll get there, er, eventually. Scrooge, don't summon the Grinch."

"Why not?"

"You know what happened last year."

"Bah, humbug."

Pierre Salisbury boomed over the stage. "I would like our audience and participants to direct their attention to the screen, which will randomly select who will be facing off against who in the qualifying round!"

The faces of the people competing appeared on a large screen, running around in a blur for half a minute. Then the images were matched.

Geppetto-------------Fagin.

Javier----------------Winston Smith

Macbeth--------------Venus

Mermaid--------------Lucy Pevensie

George F. Babbitt---Bastian Balthazar Bux

Lydia Bennett-------Ebenezer Scrooge

Humbert Humbert—Phineas

Jean-Claude Frollo—White Rabbit

"What the heck? I'm facing the White Rabbit? This is a disgrace!"

"Deal with it, Frollo," said Thursday.

"Where are the telescreens? I need to know where they are," said a middle-aged man.

"There are no telescreens, Winston," Thurday said.

"No telescreens? But there are telescreens everywhere. You must be severely misinformed."

Thursday gave up.

"The opening match between Geppetto and Fagin will commence in twelve minutes!" came the voice over the loudspeaker.

"Aw, I want to go to Brighton. Do I have to stick around?"

"Lydia, you entered yourself in this tournament. You seemed to think Lord Jim would be taken with you if you did."

"Oh, yes, handsome man, isn't he?"

"I'm handsome," said Bastian. "But I don't know my name. Am I this Geppetto or Fagin?"

"No," Thursday assured him. "You are Bastian Balthazar Bux. Your opponent is that man over there, speaking in a cell phone."

"I told you, honey," said the man Thursday was pointing to into his Verizon, with a cigar in his right hand, "I have given up smoking. It is detrimental to business."

Meanwhile, a fifty-year-old man was gazing lustily at Lucy Pevensie, who was chatting with her brother Edmund, who had come to watch the tournament.

"I'm sorry, Hum," Thursday said, putting her hand on his shoulder, "but if you touch Lucy I will have to arrest you. I can, you know."

"What? What? I'm just looking. She reminds me so much of my dear Lo…"

The loudspeaker made a high-pitched noise. "Will the puppet-master Geppetto and the Jew Fagin please step into the arena? Other contenders, enter the room in the back, where a television will exhibit to you what is going on in the arena. Friends of the contenders, please go sit with the audience."

Everybody went to their places. An Egyptian by the name of Hasan Mostafa served as referee.

"Geppetto, call on your first literary creature!" Hasan shouted, as soon as a bell rang.

"I choose my own creation, Pinnochio!"

People in the stands cheered.

"Fagin, call on _your_ first fictional character."

"With the utmost pleasure, I summon the almighty Smaug, the dragon!"

A white line separated the combatants. Hasan blew his whistle.

The wooden puppet ran up to the dragon and held on to its leg for dear life. It knew that if the dragon's fire touched it, it would be toast. Smaug aimed his fire at his own leg, but it kept missing. Finally, he realized that the only way to destroy the puppet would be to fly into the air and give it a seismic toss. He rose about sixty feet into the sky, then did a peculiar dance move to shake Pinnochio off. After a few minutes, Smaug succeeded; the puppet screamed loudly as it plummeted to the ground, where it cracked into a million pieces.

"You cheater!" Geppetto yelled, indignantly, shaking a finger at Fagin. "You purposefully chose a creature that my puppet would have no way of defeating."

"It's all permitted in the rules, Geppetto," said Hasan. "Now, please choose your second creature, or you will be disqualified."

"Fine! I choose Bilbo Baggins!"

The audience gave their boos. This was the most predictable move in the entire tournament. Player A uses Smaug; Player B counters with Bilbo. If they could've given their opinion, most people would've elected that Smaug be banned, as well as the kraken.

Bilbo made short work of the dragon, by inserting a sword into Smaug's throat. The dragon's normally gray face turned a deep shade of purple, and it faded into nothingness.

Fagin was angry. The puppet-master was supposed to be too stupid to know about Bilbo.

"Mr. Fagin, you have seventeen seconds to select a new creature," Hasan warned, after a minute went by with the Jew saying nothing. "Six…five…four…three…"

"Dracula!" Fagin exclaimed.

The audience's interest went up. No one ever used Dracula against Bilbo before. How would this go?

Hasan blew his whistle again. The vampire turned into a bat and swooped for Bilbo's neck. Bilbo seemed to be ignoring it. He was on his knees, scrawling something in the sand in front of him. Dracula was just about to bite his neck, when…

"TIME OUT!" Hasan shouted, blowing his whistle fiercely. "Back across the white line. Move!" he said, when Dracula stood there, blinking madly, his teeth poised. At last, he gave in. "Good. Now, there will be no fighting in this current match. Bilbo has thrown down a very rare gauntlet, which Fagin can either accept or refuse to accept. Bilbo will offer a riddle, which you, Fagin, must answer correctly. If you can do this, Dracula will offer a riddle for Geppetto to answer. These riddles will keep going back and forth until someone fails to answer accurately. Whoever does so will lose their creature, and be down to their last one. Do you accept, Fagin?"

A battle went on in Fagin's head. If he declined, he'd win easily. The audience could see that Bilbo had gone for his last resort, by writing the word "RIDDLE" in the sand. But if Fagin did this, he would be showing that his intelligence quotient was lower than Geppetto's, since he couldn't answer a few simple riddles, and he couldn't have that.

"I accept."

"Good. Now, Bilbo will offer the first riddle, for which you must answer, Fagin."

Bilbo spoke. "I have rivers but no water, forests but no trees, and cities with no people. What am I?"

Fagin thought for a moment. "Is it legal to ask for a hint?"

Hasan nodded. "But you can only exercise this power one time. If you ask for a hint now, you must answer all subsequent riddles on your own."

"Give me a hint!" Fagin demanded.

"Here's your hint," said Bilbo. "People carry me around with them when travelling."

It took Fagin another fifteen seconds. "Ah, a map!" he said, triumphantly.

Bilbo held up his hobbit hand in a sign of assent, indicating that Fagin had answered correctly.

"Now, Dracula, give Geppetto your riddle."

"What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs at night?" asked the vampire, in a raspy voice.

"Oh, I know! Man! He crawls as a baby, walks upright from youth through prime, then when he's an old man he walks around with a cane."

Fagin growled at the vampire. "You gave him such a common riddle. Think of something better next time!"

"Okay, Bilbo, give your second riddle to Fagin," said the referee.

"_This thing all things devours:  
Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;  
Gnaws iron, bites steel;  
Grinds hard stones to meal;  
Slays king, ruins town  
And beats high mountain down."_

"Oh, no," Fagin hissed. "When I accepted the riddle challenge, you didn't say anything about poetry."

"That's the way it goes, Fagin," the referee said, irritably.

"I say you disqualify Geppetto for bringing forth a riddle challenger who likes poetic questions."

"Oh, there will be a disqualification all right," Hasan said, darkly. "But it won't be Geppetto."

"What?! You can't do that!"

"I am the referee, Fagin. If you were referee, _you _could make the decisions. Apply next year."

The audience groaned. Someone shouted, "Come on, please continue the challenge! We're tired of listening to you two bickering!"

Another audience member yelled, "Get this damn riddle challenge over so that we can see some action!"

Hasan blew his whistle. "Quiet in the audience! Bilbo, please repeat your riddle again."

Bilbo did so.

Fagin muttered to himself. "Devours everything…birds, flowers, trees…destroys metal…kills monarchs…and erodes mountains. Could it be water? Nah, I can't make a blind guess. And I don't think many kinds have drowned, anyway. Water doesn't do anything damaging to steel. I should know; Dodger got me a steel watch and I got it wet by accident, and it stopped, but nothing damaging happened to the steel."

"The clock is ticking," said Hasan. "You only have fifteen seconds to answer before we call Dracula out for forfeit."

"Clocks," Fagin muttered. "Wait, that's the answer! TIME!" he shouted.

Bilbo nodded.

"Dracula's turn to ask, Bilbo's to answer."

"_I __am a 6 letter word.  
Letters 6-5-2 spell out a drink.  
Letters 4-5-2-3 spell out a fruit.  
Letters 1-2-6 spell out a pet.  
Letters 3-2-6 spell out a pest, which often gets eaten by 1-2-6.  
What am I?"_

"Six-letter-word," Geppetto said. "Hmmm…" He tried "peanut" first. For the second line, he got "tue." For the third line, "nuea." He gave up on that one. Then he tried "tablet," "second," and "morons."

"Twelve seconds…" Hasan warned.

At that moment, Figaro the cat appeared out of the corner of Geppetto's eye. _Cats make fine pets, _he thought. _If only the answer to line four were CAT. Hmmm…I wonder what six-letter word begins with "ca" and ends with "t"? Well, there's "cabinet." No wait, that's seven letters…_

"Answer, please."

"Uh…carpet?"

Dracula nodded.

"Damn you, stupid vampire! Can't even come up with a good enough riddle to stump a _toymaker."_

"Fagin, please no foul language. Now, Bilbo, give Fagin your next riddle."

Bilbo cleared his throat, then asked, "Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?"

Fagin stared in disbelief. "That isn't even a viable question!"

"I'm sorry, but I have to differ," said Hasan. "In a riddle contest, all questions are viable, except ones with the word 'God' in them."

"But it's unanswerable!"

"So is, what is sixteen divided by _a _squared? Doesn't mean it can't be asked."

"I request a definition of riddle," said the disgruntled Jew. "I'm almost certain it must have only one answer, and an answer at that, which can be solved by deductive reasoning."

"Well, after you are disqualified, you can look it up in a dictionary. Just answer the question."

Fagin blanched. "All right. It's going to be a wrong answer no matter what I say. So I'll guess, San Diego, California?"

Bilbo shook his head.

"Fagin has failed to answer the question correctly, which means that Dracula is out of the match. You are down to your last character, Fagin."

"But, but—I need to know the answer first!"

"Transylvania," Bilbo said. "If you had just looked at your character, you would've gotten it right."

Fagin tore bits of his hair out in frustration. Outwitted by a stupid hobbit…

"Pick your next combatant, Jew. And hurry."

"I summon the King of the Brobdingnagians!"

A giant about thirty-five feet tall appeared. It did not have gray, flabby skin like most giants, but instead looked human, except for his size.

"Stomp on the little rat!" Fagin shouted up at the giant.

The giant obeyed. Bilbo tried to run for cover, but failed. The foot came down on him, as though he were a cockroach.

"You are down to your last creature, Geppetto," said Hasan. "Make it good."

"I choose Kludd from _The Guardians of Ga'Hoole_!"

A large owl appeared, wearing a mask made of mu metal. It was wearing battle claws with fire tongs in them.

"What on Earth is this?" Fagin queried. "I never heard of Kludd."

"That's probably because you don't know about children's literature. Kludd is an evil owl in Kathryn Lasky's excellent _Guardians of Ga'Hoole _series. Until his death, he is the leader of the Pure Ones, married to Nyra, a particularly beautiful moon-faced Barn Owl."

"What are you doing reading kid's books? Even the Artful Dodger doesn't do that."

"I _am _a character in a kid's book, silly. So it is my business to know what is going on in my rival stories."

"Cut the chatter; give us some action!" yelled someone from the audience.

Hasan blew the whistle, and the battle began.

Kludd made a loud screech as he rose into the air. He dodged the giant's arms, flying alternatively from port to leeward. He scratched the giant's arm with his fiery battle claws. The giant shrieked in pain. Kludd approached the giant's head. He knocked his metal mask against the giant's pate, hoping to send the giant to the ground. But the giant's weight made this head-butting futile. Then, just before Kludd could slash at the Brobdingnagian's face with his battle claws, the giant clapped his two hands together, catching the bird between them. The fire tongs singed his fingers, and the bird was struggling like mad to get out, but the giant would not release him. Finally, the giant opened his hands, and the owl fell down to the ground with a _splat!_

The audience cheered. Except for the Smaug-Bilbo strategy, they enjoyed the first match.

"And Fagin is the winner!" called Pierre Salisbury. "That means Fagin will go on to the quarterfinals, and Geppetto is out of the running. The referee and participants will exit the arena, and the next match between Javier and Winston Smith will commence in another twelve minutes!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Fiction Tournament**

**Chapter Two**

The White Rabbit walked in five minutes after the end of the first match. He saw the scoreboard reading, "FAGIN WON!"

"Oh, now, how many matches have I missed?" he asked the room at large. "I hope I didn't miss my own."

"No," said Thursday. "Your match is conveniently last of all."

"Perhaps a little _too _conveniently," Frollo snarled.

In another corner of the room, the Mermaid from Anderson's short story was showing Humbert Humbert an album of what her sisters looked like when they were kids. He was intrigued. Bastian was standing nearby, waiting to talk to the Mermaid alone. He wanted to know how she was able to breathe outside of water.

Somebody knocked on the door of the meeting room. Thursday stared at the door suspiciously. Nobody was supposed to be in the meeting room except for herself and the combatants. And all of the combatants were accounted for.

She felt she should answer it, anyway. Quite possibly it could be Thursday5, as she had said she'd like to come meet the combatants in the Fiction Tournament this year, and since Thursday5 now starred in books that were much more like what actually happened in Thursday's life, from the involvement in _Jane Eyre _to the Yorrick Kaine business, Thursday5 could easily have access to this room.

Thursday opened the door, and was glad to see that her double was not there. Not that she didn't like Thursday5—she did—but this wasn't the best time to see her. Instead, a donkey stood in the doorway.

"What's up, Eeyore?" Thursday asked him.

"I came all the way from Hundred-Acre Wood for participation in this year's Fiction Tournament."

"But you weren't invited this year."

"Yes, I was!" said Eeyore, indignantly. "I was invited to enter the one-hundred sixty-sixth Fiction Tournament, and I set out as soon as the news reached me."

"_Oh!" _Thursday exclaimed. "You were supposed to participate in last year's tournament. This year is the one-hundred sixty-seventh. We had to replace you with Coraline when you didn't show up a year ago."

"Noooo!" Eeyore wailed. "I told Pooh something bad would happen if I tried to come to the tournament. But no, he kept encouraging me! 'It'll be good for you Eeyore!' 'If you win, you might be able to buy yourself a real tail, Eeyore!' I'll never believe a thing he says from now on."

Thursday politely shut the door on him.

An announcement came over the loudspeaker. "Will Javier and Winston Smith please report to the arena?"

Javier walked out of the room with his chest thrust out. Winston seemed worried. Thursday put her hand on his shoulder. "You'll do fine, Winston," she said to him.

"But he's a member of the Thought Police!"

"No, he isn't. He is a patrolman, yes, but in nineteenth-century Paris, not twentieth-century London."

"Okay, I'll see what I can do against him." He didn't sound very confident.

A couple of minutes later, everybody in the meeting room had their eyes glued to the television set, watching the commencement of the match.

"Now, prepare for the second match today!" Pierre Salisbury exclaimed, over the loudspeaker. "We have an antagonist in one corner, and a protagonist in the other! Hasan will referee this match, just like the first one. Now, Javier will choose his first character."

"I select the White Witch of Narnia, former Queen Jadis of Charn!"

The crowd cheered. They had never seen anyone use this character in a match before.

Now everyone turned to Winston.

"Why don't we measure villain against villain? I think Count Olaf can do something to cripple your witch."

Javier laughed. "You think a mortal who runs around wearing disguises trying to gain control of the fortune of a few orphans can defeat someone who brought eternal winter to Narnia? Bring it on!"

Hasan blew his whistle, and the match commenced.

The White Witch pointed her wand at Count Olaf, but the latter bent down just as her spell would've hit him. She muttered another incantation in a language no one in the audience could recognize.

Count Olaf stood up. He was not recognizable from his former self. Before, he had only one eyebrow; now he had none. His graying black hair was now yellow and curly. And whereas he had been noticeably tall before (though not as tall as the White Witch) now he appeared to he several inches shorter.

The second spell went in between his legs. Count Olaf circled around the Witch, apparently with the intention of slamming his briefcase on her head and knocking her unconscious. But, just as he had reached her back, after dodging a multitude of spells, she pushed her wand into his eye socket, causing his to yowl with pain. He fell to the ground, she cast another spell, and he vanished.

"Round one goes to Javier," said the referee. "Pick your second character, Smith."

"I summon Clifford the Big Red Dog!"

A mastiff the size nobody had ever seen before appeared in the arena. It looked as tall as a two-story house. The color was perhaps more striking than the size, for crimson was a color you never saw on dogs.

The White Witch aimed spells at the dog, but they seemed to bounce off. Clifford growled at her, then he folded his legs together and rolled himself into a ball. He moved toward the White Witch, so fast that she had no time to finish the incantation would make her airborne, where his rolling-ball maneuver would have no effect. When he had rolled past the spot where she had stood, the audience groaned. The White Witch was as flat as a pancake.

"Both combatants are down by one. Now, Javier, please select your next character."

"If I were in your novel, I'd arrest you for thoughtcrime," Javier snarled.

Hasan glared at him and came right up to his face. _"Did you not hear me? _You have thirty seconds to call out the name of your second character, or I will disqualify you and Winston will win this match by default. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly," said Javier, smiling sheepishly. Hasan moved back to his place. "Okay, then, let's see how your ugly red beast can handle…Otto Macnab!"

A man in his late thirties was now seen on the field. He had guns on his holster and wore clothes the audience members had only seen in Westerns. The audience were very happy with Javier's picks—he seemed to love using characters that had never seen the arena before. Some people started making bets on who would win.

Hasan blew his whistle.

Clifford rolled up into a ball again. Otto positioned his rifle. He waited until the right moment, then let off three shots in quick succession.

The first bullet lodged itself in Clifford's paw. The second one hit him in a sensitive part on his back. And the third went into his ear, causing him to howl. He disappered from the arena.

"Winston is down to his last character!" exclaimed the referee. "What will it be this time?"

Winston only said one word. "Circe."

A beautiful woman revealed herself. She looked like an ordinary housewife, who gladly did whatever her husband ordered. Javier scoffed. Otto Macnab could take her out easily. The whistle sounded shrilly.

Otto raised his rifle. But Circe walked serenely toward him, holding out a goblet. Otto drank thirstily from it. He smiled at her, leaning forward to give her a kiss. But then he fell to the ground, on all fours. His nose elongated into a snout. A tail appeared out of the back of his jeans, and his hands turned into three-toed feet. His belly expanded, and his clothes ripped apart. The audience knew they were looking at a swine.

Somebody came onto the field and ushered the pig off., since it wouldn't disappear by any other means. Javier stood there, fuming. How could this no-good Party-hater defeat two of his characters? And how could he defeat a woman who could turn men into swine? There must be a way…

"How will you respond, Javier?" Hasan asked.

"I choose none other than Ralph the Mouse!"

An ordinary-sized rodent appeared. Although the audience was prepared to boo Javier at last, since there was nothing interesting about a mouse, some Lilliputians who had wandered the Field to check on the pig were holding up a magnifying glass. Not a magnifying glass meant for themselves, of course, but one that any five-foot tall human would use. And because of this, the audience saw that the mouse was riding a motorcycle.

This raised the audience's spirits. If a vote had gone under way at that moment, asking them about the best combatant they ever saw at the Fiction Tournament, most of them would've said Javier. It didn't matter whether he won or lost this match: they loved his innovation.

As soon as Javier heard the whistle, Ralph sped toward Circe. "Vroom, vroom!" he exclaimed, for it was necessary to make noise to get this particular motorcycle to move.

Circe stood stock-still, frozen as a statute. Winston encouraged her to do something, anything, but she paid him no heed. Then, when Ralph was only a foot and a half away from her, she disappeared.

Ralph stared around, expecting her to do have done some kind of trick that would cause him to get stamped on if he wasn't careful. The audience held its breath. But a minute elapsed, and still Circe did not show.

"Well," said Hasan, "this has been an interesting match. Unfortunately, due to the unwarranted and unexpected disappearance of Winston Smithi's character, Javier wins the current match and shall proceed to the quarterfinals."

As Winston and Javier walked back to the meeting room, the latter whispered in the former's ear, "You'll be going to Room 101 soon, if I have anything to say about it." Winston gulped.


	3. Chapter 3

**Fiction Tournament**

**Chapter Three**

"Will Macbeth and Venus please enter the arenus? 'Arenus'? Get it?" Pierre Salisbury said, making an awful attempt at a rhyme.

Everyone in the audience settled down with their popcorn and root beer floats, eager for this match between a tragic hero in Shakespeare and the goddess of love to commence.

Mostafa blew his whistle.

"I will allow the woman to go first," said Macbeth.

"As you wish, hottie," said Venus. "I'll summon the Queen of Hearts!"

"Did that goddess just call her rival _hottie?" _someone in the audience asked, incredulously. "I didn't think Venus was a teenager."

"She can be anything she wants to be," said the person sitting next to the latter speaker. "If it weren't for her, there'd be no love."

"What does being 'hot' have to do with love?" asked yet another person.

"Quiet in the audience!" Pierre Salisbury shouted over the loudspeaker. "We don't need your bickering to harm the combatants' concentrations."

"Against your Queen of Hearts, I'll summon Toto!"

A Welsh terrier appeared in Macbeth's area. Some people in the audience stared.

Toto barked and ran for the Queen of Hearts' dress. She kept saying, "Off with your head!" and running around in circles. But Toto got a bite of her heel, and she kicked him, causing him to fly high in the air and fall crashing to the ground.

"Toto is out; Queen of Hearts survives!" Mostafa exclaimed.

"Okay, then, as thane of Cawdor, I summon Lord Voldemort!"

A tall man wearing black robes with slits for eyes appeared on Macbeth's side. He held a wand in his hand.

"Off with your head!" the Queen of Hearts yelled, as Voldemort said, _"Avada Kedavra!"_

The Queen of Hearts dodged the first beam of green light that went for her, but the second hit right on target. She fell down in a lump, screaming "Off with—"

Mostafa blew his whistle. "Venus, choose your next character."

"I choose Dustfinger!"

A man with light blond hair appeared. He had burns on his face, as if he had been around a lot of fire.

Voldemort yawned, pointed his wand at Dustfinger and said, _"Avada Kedavra." _The spell caused a wolf of fire that Dustfinger had created to dissipate. Voldemort's second spell hit a fire-spider, the third a flame-hippopotamus, and the fourth a blaze-giraffe. These animals of fire confused Voldemort, and it wasn't until Dustfinger's hands were on the wizard's neck, and he caused his own body heat to reach 5600 degrees that Voldemort turned around and said, "You done?" after which he aimed a final spell at Dustfinger.

"Well, that was...interesting," Hassan Mostafa said. Some people in the audience were muttering about how much they loved that battle. "But now we come to Venus' last and final character. What shall it be?"

"I choose Bellatrix Lestrange!" Venus exclaimed, clearly thinking that no one would kill someone who loves them. The witch she chose had lines of misery from all her years spent in Azkaban, but she smiled seductively at Voldemort.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

"You stupid Muggle-hater!" Venus shouted out. "Bellatrix loves you; why do you want to kill her? Wait, I know! Bellatrix, use a Time-Turner to take you back to when you looked beautiful!"

"I am beautiful still!" Bellatrix snarled, barely evading Voldemort's most recent blast of green light. "And a Time-Turner would take forever!"

"You are not allowed to tell your character what to do!" Hassan Mostafa bellowed. "Didn't they teach you the rules before you entered this tournament?"

Venus shut up and watched helplessly as Voldemort killed Bellatrix with his spell. The goddess of love hung her head and almost missed the last shout of _"Avada Kedavra!" _that would be heard in a Fiction Tournament for a long time.

The last jet of green hit the thrane of Cawdor square on his chest. He fell down in a heap and Voldemort Disapparated.

Hassan Mostafa and the audience stared in disbelief. "This is outrageous!" Pierre Salisbury said over the loudspeaker. "Macbeth won the battle, but he died afterward. Mostafa, report to me. A panel of judges will decide how we will handle this unprecedented situation. This break may last longer than twelve minutes. Venus, don't count yourself out of the tournament just yet."

Venus walked back to the meeting room, where Thursday and all the rest of the combatants were.

"So Macbeth is hot, isn't he? Am I hot too?" Frollo asked.

Venus didn't know whether to shake her head or laugh.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hit on you. I just want a little Esmeralda…a gypsy girl. Her dancing is too luscious…oh, now I'm talking like a madman. Excuse me."

Thursday patted Venus on the shoulder as Frollo ran out. "I bet Voldemort will be banned from competition in all future Fiction Tournaments. The ordeal you were put through was just too much."

"I think Macbeth got what he deserved!" said the Mermaid.

"Now, now, Mermaid. No need to judge someone because he used a uberly powered character that isn't banned yet," Thursday said.

"Wow, that Voldemort character is worse than the kraken!" Bastian exclaimed.

"You're right, Atreyu," said Humbert Humbert.

"I'm not Atreyu. I'm Bastian Balthazar Bux. Atreyu has green skin; I do not."

"Oh, well," said Humbert. "What do I care if I get little boys' names mixed up? All I like are little girls."

"Macbeth is no hottie," Lydia said, putting her arms around Venus. "I'll show you some real hotties. Like my boyfriend, Wickham."

"What are you girls babbling about?" Fagin asked, though he didn't care.

"None of your business," said Lydia.

"'The chief business of America is business'," Babbitt quoted.

"How long will it be before they make a decision? If it's too long, I'll be late for a tea party," the White Rabbit said.

"You're late for everything," Thursday commented.

"I know, but I thought that for once it'd be nice to be _on time."_

There was knock on the door and Thursday went to answer it. A fat guy wearing a gypsy outfit and pushing a hot-dog cart came through. "Paradise Hot Dogs for sale!" he said.

"I'll take one," Bastian said, pulling out some money.

"I'm not selling to _you!" _the fat man exclaimed, after looking Bastian up and down. In fact, the only person the fat man agreed to sell to was Frollo, though he ate about six hot dogs himself before leaving the meeting room.

"Announcement!" Pierre Salisbury shouted over the loudspeaker. "We have decided to not continue this year's Fiction Tournament. It's too dangerous. Please go home."

"What?!" several people said.

\

"But I'm supposed to win this tournament!" Fagin said.

"I'm already late for a tea party! If I had known this tournament wouldn't go on, I'd have gone to the party instead."

"I haven't kissed Lucy Pevensie yet!"

Thursday pulled a whistle out from beneath her bodice. "Everybody quiet down! I'll go talk to the emcee and the referee and get this whole thing straightened out."

Thursday traipsed around the arena and saw some people leaving the building. "Hey, don't go yet!" she shouted at them.

"But Salisbury said that it's over."

"Once I get through with Salisbury, he'll be a pound of steak," Thursday muttered to herself. Out loud she said, "Just stay put. I'm sure there'll be an announcement very soon saying that the Fiction Tournament is back on. Then you'll be sorry you left."

She hurried away from them toward the Oval Room in which sat Pierre Salisbury, Hassan Mostafa, and a few others.

"Thursday, what a pleasant surprise," Pierre Salisbury said, sounding anything but pleased.

"Stuff it, Salisbury. I think the Tournament should continue."

"But under the circumstances…surely you must see what will happen? Everybody will use Voldemort against one another. The first Voldemort to win will defeat the other two characters the opponent conjures. Then he may do what he did to Macbeth. We can't have that."

"Harry Potter could overcome Voldemort," Thursday pointed out.

"So he may. And perhaps some creature unaffected by magic. But Thursday…surely you see the problem here? The audience will get bored seeing the Voldemort-Voldemort match-ups, and then Harry Potter conquering Voldemort. The only thing the audience will find interesting is who the combatant chooses to fight Harry Potter. We're facing something far worse than the Smaug-Bilbo tedium that we see almost every tournament."

"Just ban Voldemort, then."

This time Hassan Mostafa spoke. "Miss Next, I'm sorry to tell you this, but the present committee has no authority with banning a character from a fictional tournament. Besides, the kraken is supposed to be the only banned creature. It has been that way for decades, and we want to keep a status quo, see?"

"The only thing I see here is belligerent corruption," Thursday said. "Even if you don't have the power to ban Lord Voldemort forever in tournaments, you can ban him from _this _tournament. Even if you don't ban him, do you really think anyone out there would use Voldemort after what the last one did to Macbeth?"

"Yes, we do think so," said one of the other people in the room, who was wearing an oddly-shaped hat. "Some people out there just want to win. They don't care if they risk losing their lives in the process."

"Couldn't there be a barrier between the combatants and the area in which their characters fight, so that anything aimed at the combatants won't harm them?"

"No barrier that could be constructed in an adequate amount of time," said the referee.

"Look, you are breaking people's hearts by ending this Fiction Tournament just because of one little problem. There probably won't be _any _audience next year, because they'll expect it to get called off again. Do you want that?"

Everybody except Pierre Salisbury shook their heads. "Thursday, it really isn't…practical for us to just ban Voldemort for this tournament. The Fiction Battles Committee in Jurisfiction will see it as an act of insubordination. I might lose my job."

"Salisbury, if you don't reinstate this tournament, I will _ensure _that you lose your job. There'll be no 'might' about it."

Pierre glared at Thursday, but grabbed a microphone next to his desk, which was connected to the loudspeaker. "The Fiction Tournament is back on, with one amendment to the rules. Lord Voldemort is banned. Audience, please return to your seats outside the arena. Someone in the basement, go count how many empty seats there are in the audience area, and go sell tickets at a nearby grocery store or something, since assuredly some of our audience has left. The next match will commence in half an hour, or whenever all of our seats are refilled. That is all."

After Salisbury put down the microphone, Thursday asked him, "What about Venus?"

"What about her?"

"Macbeth obviously can't continue in the Tournament."

"She lost; she's out."

"But—"

Hassan Mostafa interrupted her. "Thursday, if there is no tie, Venus can go on. If there is a tie, she cannot."

Thursday nodded, not quite satisfied but supposing this answer sufficed. She left the room.


End file.
